


jingle all the way (Tolkien Secret Santa Advent Calendar, day #17: NSFW list, 'unwrapping presents')

by RaisingCaiin



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gift Giving, Holiday Fic Exchange, M/M, Prelude to Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:48:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28133445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaisingCaiin/pseuds/RaisingCaiin
Summary: Glorfindel gives Erestor a present that he dares his lover to open in front of everyone.He really should learn better than to challenge Erestor like that. Because Erestor always, always, delivers.(prompt fill for Tolkien Secret Santa Advent Calendar! Day #17, "Unwrapping Presents," NSFW list)
Relationships: Erestor/Glorfindel (Tolkien)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 45





	jingle all the way (Tolkien Secret Santa Advent Calendar, day #17: NSFW list, 'unwrapping presents')

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: this is based on a true story, though I was actually in the twins' position at the time, complaining at all the silly grown-ups XD

Elrond, bless his poor traumatized kin-starven heart, keeps a version of the old winter solstice tradition from Gondolin in Imladris now. Much like the way Glorfindel had once enjoyed this custom – albeit in the Tower of the King, in an age long dead and gone by now – the people of Elrond's home gather together around a rich old sweet-smelling log, pried from the depths of the forest and set afire in the lord's hearth, to drink spiced cider and exchange small gifts that are meant to brighten a long, dark, cold season for their loved ones.

Glorfindel very carefully doesn't think about where Elrond might have learned about this tradition. From his first-father, Eärendil? From his kinsman, Erestor? From those musty, half-decayed books that Elrond seems to have come by somehow, tomes saved from the library of Turukáno himself? Glorfindel has not managed to pry a straight answer out of Elrond yet, but –

Ehem. Well. Wherever Elrond had learned of it, it is a good tradition, and it deserves to live on even now that Gondolin has perished. But it has melancholic shades and echoes for Glorfindel that it does not hold for the others, these Elves of the somewhat kindlier Third Age who never knew the wars that Glorfindel and those dwindling few of his age have.

So. Glorfindel hardly thinks he can be blamed if he approaches the gift-giving part of it all with, errr, a little _creativity_.

Tonight, Erestor looks at him askance when Glorfindel hands him two gifts and whispers, with a grin, that Erestor might like to open the larger one later. In his own rooms, perhaps, or if not, then he is always welcome in Glorfindel's if he's feeling chilly or lonely.

Erestor sighs, and actually pinches the bridge of his nose as if to ward off an approaching headache. Glorfindel mentally thanks the cider or the atmosphere or whatever it is that has apparently unwound his lover enough that he is actually _showing_ a tiny bit of _exasperation_ , even when there are other people around to see it. Erestor so rarely admits to weaknesses in this way...

"If it is such an imposition to wait, you are also welcome to open it now, of course," Glorfindel tells him, trying his level best to keep his shrug nonchalant. As if he couldn't care less one way or the other.

Erestor levels A Look at him for this, and Glorfindel knows that his game has been noticed, even if Erestor does not quite know what Glorfindel is playing at yet.

Then Erestor shrugs as well, matching him. Glorfindel is gleefully stunned. That is _actual_ nonchalance, not feigned. Erestor is going to do it?

Erestor does it. Right there in the eyes of Elrond and his sweet wife and their darling children and the rest of their household, Erestor carefully unwraps _both_ of the presents that Glorfindel has handed him. And there, amidst the noise of Lindir musing on what he should sing next and the twins complaining about Erestor receiving two gifts and baby Arwen cooing, Erestor nods his solemn thanks to Glorfindel for his first gift – a hand-carved wooden comb that Glorfindel is actually quite proud of, please and thank you – and then, stars, actually unwraps the other and puzzles over it for a moment before _lifting it from the wrappings._

Glorfindel can barely contain his glee. He really should stop challenging Erestor, because that Elf has the thickest face and will in fact do _anything._

For a moment, Erestor regards the fabrication of fine silky fur, soft red ribbons, and cheerful golden bell that he has been gifted with a faintly puzzled air. Then, stars save them all, he actually _holds it up aloft_ , cocking his head to one side as his second gift is revealed to be made of fur on one side, then ribbon and bell on the other.

Glorfindel will have to take back everything he has ever said about the winter-tide gift exchange being a slightly melancholic tradition. Tonight, Erestor and his treatment of Glorfindel's second gift have single-handedly reclaimed this for him, hah...

Oh, and the others have seen it now too, it seems. Lindir's strumming has fallen silent with a final discordant _twang_ , while Lindir himself is spluttering like he is about to die. Celebrían reaches over and wallops him on the back with all the expertise that comes of raising three burp-prone children, but her face is contorted with Glorfindel would like to think is the effort of trying not to burst out laughing. Elrond's face is already in his hands.  
  
Glorfindel winks at Celebrian and only Celebrian. Her eyes sparkle right back at him. 

"Glorfindel," Erestor says after a moment has passed in this charming tableau. "What is this."

"That isn't a question," Glorfindel tells his lover. Gleefully.

Erestor gives him that Look again. The jest is on him, though – Glorfindel finds all iterations of The Look particularly delectable.

"Glorfindel," Erestor repeats, in precisely the same tone as before. "What. Is. This."

Glorfindel beams at him. "It's something for you to wear!"

Erestor seems to be mulling this over as he turns back to the fabric concoction in his hands. Glorfindel can all but _see_ his quicksilver mind running through how such a thing might be meant to be _worn_ – and then it clicks, and Glorfindel is treated to a millisecond of his stone-faced lover's eyes widening as Erestor processes where the fur goes, where the ribbon fits, and where the bell hangs.

Glorfindel already knows that he will be bringing out the memory of that look many times over the next several years. Which, incidentally, may be the same amount of time that Erestor will ban Glorfindel from his bed for pulling this stunt….

Except that then Erestor stands. Shucks the dark over-tunic that he has worn here tonight instead of his usual full robes, in concession to this being an informal gathering. Steps out of his boots. Places first one long, lean, trouser-clad leg through the first hole of his gift, then his second leg through the other. Draws the whole thing up and up and up his black-clad form until it finally sits precisely where it was designed to sit.

Stars, Glorfindel is going to _die_. Scratch that – Glorfindel is going to die _again_. Surely the Valar will take pity on him and let him return to Middle-earth a second time if he expires from this image though, right? It would be justified, wouldn't it?

Because there Erestor stands, now looking down at himself wearing Glorfindel's gift over his clothes. The soft, silky fur that Glorfindel had prepared with his own two hands sits at Erestor's crotch, cupping and covering everything there; the red ribbon forms the bridge that passes between Erestor's legs and up the back of them, holding the fur in place at the front. And the bell – that damned, tinkling little golden bell! – hangs innocuously from a second bit of ribbon attached at the top of the first where it comes up between Erestor's legs to meet the fur just below the small of Erestor's back. Every time Erestor moves, the bell jingles, right above the cleft of his ass.

Stars. If anything upon these shores were capable of making Glorfindel flush, this – this might be it.

Lindir has come out on the other side of his earlier spluttering and is now watching through his fingers with avid – if also red-faced – interest. Celebrian, bless her, is explaining to the twins that no, they may not try on uncle Erestor's new holiday garb, it's just for grown-ups, and besides, wouldn't their legs be cold if they wore something like that? Yes, grown-ups are silly like that, aren't they? Elrond, meanwhile, has disappeared into his hands entirely.

After regarding himself for a moment, Erestor slowly looks up at Glorfindel. When their gazes meet, Glorfindel cannot read a damn thing in Erestor's eyes, and all games aside, he is on the verge of tipping over into concern that this has been a bridge too far for his self-contained lover when – miracle of absolute miracles! – the corners of Erestor's eyes crinkle slightly.

This is all the warning that Glorfindel gets before Erestor turns around, bends over just enough that he could reach a dish dropped upon the floor, and _shakes the bell._

Ah, no, that is a step too far. _Now_ Glorfindel has died and is surely speeding back toward the West with this vision imprinted upon his expiring eyes! Well, at least he won't be alone - from the sound of it, Elrond has found the sight fatal too, though Lindir is choking too loudly to be dead yet. And this must mean that the one applauding, then giving a bawdy whistle through their fingers, is Celebrian.

Erestor straightens slowly, sensuously, and turns back to their group to execute a perfect but somehow still languid bow to Celebrian, who is laughing now.

Then he turns to Glorfindel. "I believe your rooms were on offer earlier?"

Glorfindel stands so fast that he can feel the blood rush from his head.

"Good night, you two!" Celebrian hollers after them as they leave, Erestor's grip iron-tight on Glorfindel's wrist.

Elrond, Glorfindel reflects with what is left of his mind, could not have picked a better partner than that woman.

And Glorfindel himself could not have picked a better one than Erestor, though he's fairly certain that his lover is going to make him pay for this stunt tonight.


End file.
